


No Coincidence

by girloficeandfire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girloficeandfire/pseuds/girloficeandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor's point of view of the Clash of Kings scene/conversation with Sansa on the serpentine steps in the Red Keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zsra187](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=zsra187).



> DISCLAIMER: Characters and dialogue excerpts are GRRM's and his alone. Personally I'm far too much like Sandor (minus the whole kinslaying desires, threats of beating and alcoholism and constantly killing people thing…heh…) and love imagining what he was thinking during his many conversations with Sansa Stark.
> 
> SanXsan LJ community commentfic meme prompt: Something set in ACOK - just an everyday snippet of conversation, or meeting between Sansa and the Hound. Something that could almost be canon...an undercurrent of simmering sexual tension.
> 
> I have to give props to the fysandorclegane LJ community, because I definitely went back and used notes from the re-read of this Sansa chapter along with the chapter itself to write this little fic!
> 
> (Sandor POV)

The worthless short bugger, Greenfield, was guarding the drawbridge of Maegor's tonight.

Sandor tipped his wineskin to his mouth and watched the window that he knew to be Sansa Stark's. Someone shouted, then a cacophony of noise broke out, but he merely retreated into the shadows as Greenfield disappeared and then a group of swordsmen wrapped in red cloaks ran by. The idea of a good fight appealed to him, as it always did, and for a moment he thought about following them - until he saw the little bird dart across the drawbridge.

She was wearing a plain gray cloak, her tell-tale hair tucked up beneath its hood, but somehow he knew it was her. _Where does she think she's going just now?_ Sandor wondered. _Stupid little bird_. He followed her as she snuck through the yard and climbed the serpentine steps, more cat than wolf or bird in her movements just then. He followed her all the way to the godswood, and then for some reason he felt the need to stop.

Sansa Stark disappeared amongst the weirwoods, amongst the old gods of her people, and Sandor Clegane could not bring himself to interrupt her peace.

_I'll wait for her back at the serpentine; she has to go back that way and I shan't miss her there._ He felt his way back down the steps until he found one of the hidden doors along the way, settling down just inside where he would certainly hear her when she came back. Though his wineskin was nearly empty, he had a second one hanging from his belt, enough to last him quite some time if necessary.

He did not have to wait long and for that he was nearly thankful. Another whole wineskin in his belly would have likely been more trouble than it was worth, though he did not realize this until he heard her quick soft steps coming back down the serpentine and stepped out onto the landing quite a bit too soon. The little bird glanced off of him and began to lose her balance, but despite the drink his reflexes were still quick and he was able to grasp her wrist and keep her from falling. Afraid she would struggle against his grip if she didn't know who he was, he bent his head and said, "It's a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?" After the question left his mouth he knew it had been the wrong thing to say, but he forced a laugh at his own expense and mused, "Maybe you do."

The girl was so frightened of him that she was trembling as she insisted, "No, my lord, pardons, I'd never...please, you're hurting me..." She was squirming but he could not bring himself to let her go, not now that he had a hold on her and could make her talk to him, look at him.

"And what's Joff's little bird doing flying down the serpentine in the black of night?" he asked. He'd almost slipped, almost asked "what's _my_ little bird doing", but no, that was wrong. As a member of Joffrey's kingsguard he may have the right to know what the king's betrothed was up to, but this girl was not his and never would be.

She hadn't answered yet, and in his frustration with himself he shook her, only at the last moment realizing what he was doing and making sure that he wasn't too rough. "Where were you?" he asked insistently.

The little bird didn't lie about where she'd been, he'd give her that, but she did stammer quite a bit when she explained why she'd been there and besides, he wasn't stupid enough to believe that she'd been praying for _Joffrey_ of all people. _She should have stuck with saying she was praying for her father, stupid little bird._

Sandor released her arm and looked her up and down, swaying a bit as he lost his focus and regained it again. She had curves now, and where her cloak was open in the front he could see the pink-flushed mounds of her teats fairly popping out of her dress...but still his eyes were drawn back to her pretty little face, a flush on her cheeks but a paleness beneath that's meaning was revealed in her wide frightened eyes as she looked at him but then away, obviously trying to avoid looking at his hideous scars. _Near a woman grown, but a still a silly girl at heart,_ he thought, and his lip curled..

...and suddenly everything he had just thought was words and they were spilling out of his mouth and he couldn't stop them, _fucking wine_. "You look almost a woman...face, teats, and you're taller too, almost...ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you..." He had a couple in mind, but he didn't think they were songs Sansa Stark was like to ever sing, and especially not to him, yet he still went on, "Sing me a song, why don't you?" Sandor found himself thinking about a different kind of song, then, though he wondered if her ladylike courtesies would extend so far as to keep her from singing _that_ kind of song. Strangely enough, he somehow didn't think so, and with a rough chuckle he insisted, "Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don't you?" _Of course she likes knights, you fool, and maybe if you were a handsome knight she'd tilt her head back and bare that smooth, delicate, graceful little neck of hers for him and he would brush his fingertips over her skin and wrap his hands around the back of her head, tangle them in her hair and kiss her the way a girl like her should be kissed but never would be..._

The little bird was chirping at him again and her voice interrupted Sandor's thoughts. "True knights, my lord," she said, her voice quavering.

"True knights?" he repeated, mocking her shamelessly because he knew she would not understand the true meaning of his words any more than he would ever be able to spell out or explain exactly what he meant. He was barely more than a common sellsword and though he could think anything he wanted about Sansa fucking Stark, should he speak most of those thoughts out loud he would likely be in a world of trouble. "And I'm no lord, no more than I'm a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?" His own mistake sent him reeling and he nearly fell, bracing himself against the stone wall to regain his balance. _Dammit, fool, what are you saying? You know you'd never beat her; not like that. You want to take her and show her the song a real man would make her sing, not beat her bloody the way Boros and those other fucking arses do. Fucking wine._ "Gods. Too much wine. Do you like wine, little bird? Rue wine? A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a woman."

Sandor looked at her again and suddenly found himself wondering what he'd do if the tables were turned and he found Sansa Stark wandering the Red Keep drunk. _Thank my lucky stars and refill her glass,_ he thought, laughing. He had to shake his head then to keep from picturing the little bird in her cups, red hair tousled and eyes bleary, maybe even lusty...if he got his way. "Drunk as a dog, damn me. You come now. Back to your cage, little bird. I'll take you there. Keep you safe for the King." That last word was a curse on his tongue, and with that he placed his hand on her shoulder blades _look how it spans her pretty little highborn back_ and gave her a push, as gently as he could though the things on his mind at the moment, the things he'd do to her given the chance, weren't gentle at all. Sandor forced himself to be silent; he'd said enough already, that was damn sure. It was only when they reached the drawbridge and saw Boros Blount guarding it and the little bird flinched in rightful fear that he spoke again.

"That one is nothing to fear, girl." Sandor took hold of her shoulder and felt her trembling beneath his hand, though this time he knew it wasn't because of him and in a small way that made him glad. "Paint strips on a toad, he does not become a tiger."

Of course Boros buggering Blount had to stop and question them, but the man was as stupid as he was ugly and even believed the little bird's terrible lies. Soon they were on their way again, and Sandor would have gratefully kept his silence had Sansa Stark not insisted on asking, "Why do you let people call you a dog? You won't let anyone call you a knight."

"I like dogs better than knights," he replied automatically, and then the rest of the words spilled out like the insides of a man sliced across the gut with a good sword, the story of his grandfather and his grandfather's dogs and what their bravery and loyalty had earned for the Clegane family. And though he didn't know why, he found himself saying, "A hound will die to you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." His hand seemed to reach up of his own accord, wrapping around her jaw and tilting her face up toward his, gently at first until he suddenly realized that he could kiss her, now, like he'd thought about doing, but she was still trying to avoid looking him in the eye and so instead he felt his fingers clench her chin a bit too hard as he accused, "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song."

Sandor could almost see the wheels turning in Sansa Stark's head as she whispered, "I...I know a song about Florian and Jonquil."

_Not the song I'm thinking of, little bird._ "Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song for you, whether you will it or no."

"I will sing it for you gladly," the girl promised, though of course he knew that she had no idea _what_ she was promising. Sandor snorted in derision.

"Pretty little thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here...and every one better than you." _That's right, call her a liar, though likely she would sing a song if you asked...just not the one you're wanting._

He delivered the little bird to her room and waited until she'd shut herself up inside, then pulled out his wineskin and drank deeply, wishing the sour red would ease rather than ignite the arousal that had built up like wildfire inside of him. He thought about braving the hungry, angry masses to go looking for a whore, but in the end he turned on his heel and made for his chambers.

His hand on his cock and Sansa Stark in his head would do well enough for tonight.


End file.
